The Good Old Ultra-Violence
by Aevora Myonsarys
Summary: Alexander DeLarge narrates the events that took place after England's Minister of the Interior's court trial.
1. As Empty Within As The Abyss Above

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 **The Good Old Ultra-Violence**

 **Chapter 1: As Empty Within as the Abyss Above**

 _It's interesting how the most absurd adventures of the real world only feel truthful when you register them. In this piece, I'm going to be your faithful narrator, and I will tell you some of my experiences after the court case regarding the unfortunate events caused by the Ludovico technique, under the Minister of Interior's guidance._

 _Grab your milk-plus glasses and get ready for a bit of the good old ultra-violence._

 **##**

Three months after Mr. Frederick, the Minister of Interior, managed to emerge victorious in court, I stayed in London working in his office. In fact, I did not work – I would only make myself present every now and then. As he promised, he gave me a job with a large income, besides the health treatment already given to me thanks to his full financial support.

Since the ones I'd once call 'droogies' had turned into a bunch of 'soomkas', I've decided to abandon my once beloved Nasdat slangs. Those unique terms had lost their charm after being corrupted by my former clique's betrayal.

I had not only lost interest in my sophisticated vocabulary, but also on my exquisite practices. I would often find myself wandering through the cold streets of London, with a pitch-black sky over me, mirroring the emptiness of what's within. Making my own rephrasing of Nietzsche, the abyss had stared at me for so long, that it touched me. In simpler words, I would always seek the violent fun that used to feed me, but I no longer had inclination to do so. My impulses for pleasure and my inner cries for chaos had been diminished along the way.

That's because during the trials, I couldn't get myself into my beloved adventures – otherwise, I wouldn't be able to show up in court and fulfill my commitment with Mr. Fred. Until the final verdict, I had to remain far away from any activity the law condemns as illicit or illegal.

The only thing that, for sure, I can say that had never perished, was my admiration for Ludwig van. Oh, boy, if Beethoven's not a genius, I don't know what else he is. His songs would get me through the vague and dull routine of boring England. One may say that human's most important knowledge is that of mathematics and science – However, art is what we live for. It makes us alive, and turns living experience something less empty. And even a proud freak like me knows that.

There was a very specific day of that dull routine, one of the last few ones, in which I reached my breaking point. I was becoming soft, and I disliked it – yet, I was not able find a way out of it. All of my desires would be unconsciously dismissed, as if they had never been there. That day was so critic for your faithful narrator, that I didn't even leave home that night, to at least try to return to my rule breaker habits. Instead, I decided to stay inside.

Although that day was quite saddening, the funniest thing happened – I went to bed early, and woke up early in the following day. It still embarrasses me to no end to think of how ridiculous and weak I had become. My true self, the virile and ultra-violent me, had become flimsy ashes fluctuating in the frigid wind of the English lands.

About a week after such infamous episode, while I was sitting beside my work desk and taking care of my duties – which were, in fact, _none_ – Mr. Fred surprisingly stepped into my office, wearing an all-grey suit with a purple necktie. His wrinkles are visible, and his hair is so white and sparse that it almost gets camouflaged. I made myself take my feet off the wooden table and sit in a more composed manner, straightening my navy blue suit.

"Alex." Fred said smiling, in his usual obnoxious fake care. "It's good to see you. It's funny how we work together, yet almost never get to see each other." He commented.

"Good morning, Mr. Fred." I answered in my usual rhythmic tone, staring my pair of strong-blue eyes directly onto his dark brown ones. "Indeed, sir." It is all that I said before he continued his speech.

"You see, Alex, I have been nominated as the English Ambassador to the Republic of Korea." He explained. I raised a surprised eyebrow, which made him continue. "I believe that has been done to calm things down around here. Even though the verdict deemed me innocent," and then he added "thanks to your help," before following his train of thought, "everything is still quite a stir."

"And what is that supposed to mean, sir?"

"I have to move to Korea, Alex." He said. "I would be pleased to have your company, that is, if you're willing to go. Otherwise, I'm still going to fulfill my promise and arrange you another job here in London." I could sense he was saying those words only for the sake of politeness; he expected me not to go. And in a way, I could understand from where such an idea would come from.

In that moment, your dear narrator stopped to ponder for a moment. What did I have to lose? Everything that once made me enjoy the city of London had perished. I didn't find not even one reason to justify not going. "I don't see why not, sir. I'd be pleased to join you," I said. "that is, if I'm welcomed, sir." I quickly added.

"Of course you are." Alex smiled briefly, in his usual fake mannerism, although he was clearly surprised that I had decided to go with him. "Well, we're taking off in two days. Be ready until then." He said. "I have an appointment now, if you excuse me, Alex. But we'll see each other again soon."

"I'm looking forward to our next encounter, sir. I'll be ready." With that said, we bowed to each other slightly and Mr. Fred left the room for whatever appointment he had. Realizing that it'd be pointless to stay in the office, I decided to go home and start packing already. After all, I had many belongings that I'd wish to take with me and plenty of free time until the day after tomorrow.

 _Korea… already sounds like an adventure_ , I thought while making my way back to my recently acquired apartment. I was genuinely excited to explore unknown lands. _Perhaps I'll be able to reconnect my bond with the good old ultra-violence in there. Who knows._

 **End of Chapter One**


	2. Alexander The Explorer

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 **The Good Old Ultra-Violence**

 **Chapter 2: Alexander The Explorer**

The decisive day had come: upon meeting Mr. Fred in the London Airport, we took off. The flight was abominable. Such comfort is pointless when the trip is supposed to take so long. Our travelling had to be divided in two parts – firstly, we took a flight to Moscow, which took 4 hours 'only', as Mr. Fred said himself as if it was nothing. I was already impatient.

When I was told the next flight would last for 8 hours and a half, I had the urge to give up, but there was no point in such thing because that would mean taking another 4 hour-flight to go back to London. Besides, that was weakness – something that had impregnated me since the good old days had been done. However, I would not let it take the lead over myself, and I took the second flight with determination.

When I took my first step outside of the Seoul Airport, the Korean capital already mesmerized me out of a simple glimpse. Compared to London, the buildings were greyer and taller, the lights shone brighter, the streets were busier, the vehicles were faster – everything was greater. The noise of car honks, talks and steps sounded so different, almost like music.

I was enthralled by the new world I had in front of my eyes. The idea of exploring the new lands was thrilling, and I felt my stomach burning with excitement.

One month had passed since my arrival, and somehow, enthusiasm hadn't left me. Your faithful narrator was gladly surprised to know that he could communicate in English without many problems.

After 30 days of living as a tourist, I felt confident enough to actually begin _exploring_ the city, rather than only wandering curiously around it. Dressed in full-black clothes, most notably a long leather coat, I left the apartment Mr. Fred bought for me, aiming the night life of Seoul.

Instead of British drunk old men roaming through dark alleys stinking of garbage, there were busy streets full of young men and women talking and laughing loudly as they migrated from one bar to another, from a club to another.

Then something clicked on your dear narrator's mind – they had bars, _actual bars_. Alcoholic beverages had been prohibited in England a long time ago. If someone wanted to get drunk, they would drink juice or milk mixed with hallucinogen substances, instead of liquor.

Upon that realization, I remember smirking to myself as I crossed the vivid streets, full of people and lights, watching the couples make out, the gangs fighting one another, the shattered glass spreading itself through the floor as the drunk youth bumped on their own bottles.

I couldn't wait any longer. Making my way to the busiest bar, I ordered the strongest drink, aiming to get a bit of the same poisonous thrill of those people.

In the following morning, this faithful narrator's first impression of the day was a strong and relentless headache. I had woken up wearing nothing but my underwear, as two female nobodies had accompanied me through the night, leaving afterwards, and so I drifted off while theorizing about possible future adventures.

But there was your faithful narrator, washing his face with the cold water of the bathroom's sink, wishing to rest more. It was my first hangover – what a feeling. And when I thought that, I also felt something else: my stomach was burning. But instead of excitement, as like my first day in Seoul, it was actually vomit. I kneeled on the ground, and I put my face fully inside the toilet so nothing else would get dirty.

Once done, I undressed myself and took a long cold shower. Then, after wrapping myself on a towel, I entered my closet and got dressed into a dark brown button shirt and a suit made of snakeskin.

Taking a couple pills to ease the effects of the hangover, I left my apartment for another day of 'work' in Mr. Fred's office.

 **End of Chapter Two**


	3. Wind Of Change

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 **The Good Old Ultra-Violence**

 **Chapter 3: Wind of Change**

Fake office work all day, reckless drinking all night. I was pretty satisfied with my routine. The bars and the clubs would always be playing a stupid pop song that anyone within their senses would have classified as obnoxious.

However, _nobody_ was _ever_ in their senses on those places, as the alcohol circulating through their bodies was in full control of their minds, putting them into a constant estate of carefree happiness.

The crowds would twist and turn to the unclear sound of messy music and muffled remote conversations, led by their erratic drunk behavior. It was a rowdy but good-natured crowd.

Now, that was a way somebody should be drunk, unlike those old addicted parasites who would only make London streets stink even more.

At that point, a total of three months had already passed since my arrival at Seoul, and the good old ultra-violence was already back to my life in a renewed way. The new world proved itself to be a paradise.

It didn't matter if it was a night of clear pitch-black sky and hot weather, neither innumerous clouds accompanied by a cool breeze, nor a rainy torment. If it was night time, it was my time.

As the days passed, I would go to a different neighborhood every night. I felt that I had to taste literally everything the Korean capital had to offer. It was a must to know every bar, to talk to every girl, to taste every drink.

One of those days brought the wind of change, which would mark my life forever. Moving from London to Seoul had already done an immense impact to your faithful narrator, but the events of that certain night definitely gave a new meaning to the brief stay I had in Asia.

From the looks of the establishments and of the people of the neighborhood, it was easy to know they were mostly thugs. I didn't have problems with that, as I used to be a criminal myself, so I maintained my night routine.

After having a couple drinks, while sitting alone on a stool by the bar counter, I noticed a rebellious group of three young men around a green billiard table, cheering excitedly every now and then. One of them had auburn hair and black leather clothes; other one, had light blonde hair and was wearing a blue button shirt, which was opened, with pink rose printings, matched with red pants; the last one had black messy hair and tanned skin, and was also wearing an open button shirt, but his was orange, with black pants.

Quite interested in watching the game, but also a bit curious about the players, I stood and silently approached closer to have a better view. Whether someone managed to put a ball on a pocket, or missed completely, they would scream in cheerfulness.

After some good minutes, one of them noticed me, and seemed to be quite annoyed by it. "Hey." The redhead man called, rather irritated.

"Are you talking to me?" I said, not giving him any mind.

"Yes, I am." His annoyance increased, and his reddish bangs were accompanying the movement of his face as he spoke. At this point, his other two friends had already turned to me, with a half-bothered half-confused expression. "What do you think you're doing here? Get lost!"

"I'm just watching." I said calmly.

"Oh, is that so?" He said with a smirk. "Can the nosy bastard play?" He challenged me.

I smirked back rather malignantly. "Sure." I approached even closer.

"That's what we'll see." He said, handling me a light-woodened pool cue, while one of his friends positioned the balls.

"The challenger gets the first move." He said proudly. I showed no sign of anger – and it really didn't matter at all, because I would still emerge victorious in the end.

And with that, the match started. Each minute that passed, the group would forget even more that there had ever been a challenge in first place, and when the match started to get closer to an end, they were already cheerful once more.

The match lasted for quite long, but upon its conclusion, indeed I was the one to win. I handled the cue back to him as I said "Good game." And it really had been – he was quite a good player, that was undeniable, but nothing comparable to your faithful narrator.

"Beginner's luck." He said, more as a joke rather than as mockery or unacceptance. "You're lucky that I don't really care about snooker."

"I'm not a beginner. I'm just not from around." I said.

"Yeah, it's a bit obvious that you're not from around. Where are you from?" He continued to plant the seeds of a conversation, while his friends were putting the cues and the balls back on their respective places, focused on a conversation of their own.

"London, England." I answered.

" _Oohh_ , a European guy" He said jokingly, making a mocking tone of fake fear. "Wanna a drink?" He said casually, motioning in the direction of the bar counter.

"Sure." I smirked a bit, slightly shrugging.

Once everybody had taken a seat on a stool, a real conversation started. I learned that the redhead's name was Hwoarang, and that his life ranged from a martial arts student to a street thug. If he had a last name, he never mentioned it.

The blonde friend was Steve Fox, who was from England just as me, although his origins trace from Liverpool. He was also fond of fights, and actually was a professional boxer for quite a long time. He retired when the mafia started to chase after him.

The black haired man was a Spanish called Miguel Caballero Rojo. Just as the others, he is a natural fighter, and made a name for himself through the streets of Spain. And that's the exact reason why he left his home country.

That night lasted longer than it would usually do for me. When the sun was rising, I headed home, not without promising to meet them in the same bar on the following night. The rosy sky was the definite sign for the night slaves to vanish – including me. The sun caressed my pale cheeks and the cool breeze played with my brown hair as I made my way back home.

 **End of Chapter Three**


	4. Adventure Of A Lifetime

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 **The Good Old Ultra-Violence**

 **Chapter 4: Adventure of a Lifetime**

After I met Steve, Miguel and Hwoarang, I shared with them the two best months of my life. Sounds rather gay at first, – not that I'm a homophobic, though – but it was really the opposite. We did such absurd things, that even the most macho man guy would shit himself in our presence.

However, unlike it used to be with my 'droogies', we actually did illicit things for the good. And we were an actual group of equals, instead of having only one of us as the leader of the rest. And, in reality, it worked better that way.

Somehow, they made me come to my senses about many things. They taught me how rape was wrong on so many levels, saying how degrading it is for both sides of the crime. I had never really thought in the way they did – and it actually made sense.

They also showed me rock and roll. I disliked the music at first, because it was noisy. That's when Steve mentioned something about progressive rock, saying that it is a subgenre that would be of my likes. And it really was. There was not even a day in which I wouldn't listen to Pink Floyd, besides listening to my good ol' Ludwig van.

Our fun came mostly from the fights I'd arrange for my fellows. That's how we'd gain money to spend in bars and clubs afterwards. They would win every time, but still the crowds would always bet on the challengers – I guess I was quite good with marketing. It was our scheme: I would arrange the matches, market them, and coordinate the money bets, while my fellows would simply do their thing, using Fox, Caballero Rojo and Blood Talon as their fighting nicknames.

During those months, I also taught them a few things. Their art of manipulation was better than ever. We'd always get what we want, wherever we were.

They also learned to like classical music. Actually, to be more precise, they learned to listen to Ludwig van. At first, they told me that, in general, they thought it was quite a boring genre of music, but I made them learn how to appreciate it, and at least Beethoven they could listen to – usually when we were high, though.

Talking about getting high, out of the things I taught them, by far they enjoyed the milk-plus the most. I don't think your faithful narrator even needs to say why, _right?_

Our fun also came a lot from one of our favorite things, which was to ride. Either on a car or a motorcycle, we would always let the speed take our bodies to the limit of the rush, as the wind would always put the soul at ease, as if it was making it float, while at the same time filling it with enthusiasm as we drove through the streets of Seoul.

The wild moments my reckless fellows and I shared were many, but they felt like only one, a single one that would never end, a single one that would last forever, and that felt like the best one ever. It was a single adventure, but it was one of a lifetime, and it brought genuine joy not only to your dear narrator, but also to his new friends. We were happy. And we were free.

 **End of Chapter Four**


	5. All Good Things Come To An End

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 **The Good Old Ultra-Violence**

 **Chapter 5: All Good Things Come To An End**

Somebody shot the English ambassador to Korea.

It does not matter where you _physically_ are in the world; if you happen to be in politics, you are automatically subject to politicking.

To say Mr. Frederick had fell in distaste of his former allies would be an understatement from your faithful narrator. He was _loathed_ both by fellow politicians and by the whole people of England, hence why he was sent away.

Once the dust had settled, he _conveniently_ passes away. Anyone with two brain cells knows he's been murdered.

And anyone with one brain cell does not _fucking care_ about him leaving this world.

Except for me.

But not because of him, of course. Rather, because of what he was able to provide me with: the life of my dreams come true.

 _But all good things come to an end_ , the saying came into my mind as I waved a last goodbye for my friends who I met in this country so distant from home. Yet, it is where I felt the most comfortable ever in my life. I wish this goodbye tasted like a 'see you soon'; however, it tasted like a final farewell.

It felt worse for me in the symbolic manner. Saying farewell to them meant saying farewell to a life that finally suited me… because I had a feeling in my guts that returning to England would be my doom.

As I lay limply on the sidewalk, I recall these events one last time. Your faithful narrator is currently dying, probably out of some organ failure coming from a very weird-tasting milk-plus.

I have no regrets. I have lived to the fullest.

And fuck everyone who thinks I haven't. I'm going to be dead anyways.

May I rise to the heav… _actually_ , may I descend to hell. Heaven sucks – there's no one there.

 **End of Chapter Five**


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